Philip stood out of doors, idling in the caress of sunshine and smoking inattentively. His eyes danced above the life bustling past him and kept to the horizon, beyond uninterested in the swells or the businessmen or the merchants who'd not yet been swept away. He had found a seedy thrill in opening the door to Thomas, but the day was incredibly fine and he doubted he'd venture out to see it once he'd gained his evening's accompaniment.
When he spotted Thomas, he saw that that man's face was set with a cool determination, approaching the mask he wore when working. Philip was pleased to note that he hadn't seen it since their first meeting; Thomas's occlusion seemed frozen, upon first glance, but curiously quick to melt at a kiss.
"You smoke genuinely awful cigarettes," Philip said pleasantly by way greeting, flicking ash onto the ground. Thomas looked at him in surprise, a half-smile working over his face, and he shook his head disapprovingly.
"You didn't need to smoke them just because you found them."
"I'd never smoke, otherwise."
Sealed neatly in the flat, Philip put the half-smoked cigarette between Thomas's lips. Thomas inhaled deeply and blew the smoke in a thin line above Philip's head.
"Does your mother know what a rake you are? Stealing cigarettes from the grieving?" He asked, and poked his fingers against the remainder of the pack Philip had pocketed.
"Oh god, I'd forgotten. My sympathies."
Thomas looked at him and Philip could see him trying to reign his happiness back with the machinery of sorrow. "It's been truly dreadful. Can you console me?"
At the invitation, Philip kissed him. Their lungs shared in the husky smoke, which slipped from between them as though they tamped, rather than stoked, a flame.
"I'm going to set your rug on fire," Thomas warned, inclining his head towards the long-ashed cigarette at his fingers. Philip was prevented from tapping it on the edge of a plate adorning the table behind them, opting instead to let the embers darken a strip along a mess of calling cards.
Having made their way into the sitting room in search of an ashtray, they pressed themselves together on the couch. "I've planned some devilry for the evening," Philip said, retrieving the pilfered cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one.
"I thought those were awful," Thomas accused, to which the man shrugged. Thomas took the pack away from him and asked, as he stuffed it into into his own pocket, "What sort of devilry?"
"A restaurant. Which is more devilish than it sounds," he assured.
Philip watched Thomas's face cloud like the smoke which had suddenly appeared to draw his attention away from the conversation. Traces of unhappiness were suddenly drawn in like the last touches to a sketch. "I hardly have the dress for that."
"I hardly expected you would," Philip said, surprised. "I know someone with a rather popular clothier for a friend; I convinced him to let me borrow something for the night. You'll be dressed in the suit of some lord and I'm sure it will never look half so good again. I had to guess your measurements, but I imagine I wasn't terribly far off the mark."
It hadn't taken much convincing; the someone had been a school chum and thought the entire charade rather a lark once it had been explained in halting detail why, exactly, Philip wanted to make off with a stranger's suit. The issue of measurements devolved into a farce, with Philip making non-committal hand gestures and the clothier showing him pieces entirely too large or small until they finally found a series of 'just rights'.
"It hasn't yet come yet," Philip laid tentatively out over the silence. "I imagine it will arrive at the last post, just to be bothersome."
Thomas nodded jerkily and leaned forward to stub out his fag, allowing for Philip's half-smoked one to be placed within his lips. Philip fought back the tendrils of disappointment which crept over him like an iron vice, sealing him in with clamps of annoyance.
"That's very," he paused, turning his head to meet Philip's gaze, "kind."
All of the feelings coiled around Philip unwound immediately. He gave a little laugh when Thomas's lips met his temple. "Did you suppose I would be unkind?"
"It's odd to think of, is all. Thank you."
"It was pure selfishness, I assure you," he said. It had been free and diverting entertainment the length of a spare afternoon which promised to extend the length of this evening - he could think of little better. "We could have found some way to wile away the long hours if we stayed in, but I could hardly give up the notion of seeing you dressed up to the nines."
"You're a queer one," Thomas said, extinguishing his cigarette. He reached his arm behind Philip's back and pulled him closer.
"Perhaps, but I'm sure I'm the most sensible man you know."
"That's hardly saying much. The only decently sensible one at the House is the dog."
"And you, surely?"
"That goes without saying."
"What a very clever pair we are."
So, for a long while, they conversed like ostentatiously clever men. Laughter erupted over blunders and they compared beration over the remarkable idiots whom Thomas had served. Thomas would outline his opinion and Philip would almost inevitably be able to sketch it out within the lines, heightening and making caricatures of the people who swept the cobwebs of ballrooms directly into their dull little heads.
A person they agreed upon liking had been the viscount Philip had been speaking with the night they had met, and whom Thomas had, apparently, gone to bed with. At this revelation, Philip couldn't speak for laughter for a moment.
"Oh, that's not fair! Not that night?"
"Why do you suppose I left you?" Philip was nearly certain it was a lie, but he couldn't help the entertained horror from creeping over his face. After a moment, Thomas admitted, slightly red-faced, "No, weeks before. You two seemed chummy, though; I sort of thought I'd come recommended."
"I'd only just met him, so we somehow missed the subject of sodomy. To think," Philip huffed, sitting straight and turning to face Thomas, "I was rather cross at him disappearing; he clearly did the both of us a good turn. I could write him a thank-you."
"I think that may be a bad idea."
"Immensely sensible of you."
Thomas appeared to consider, before he made his way to his feet and stood before Philip. "Let's celebrate in his honour," he said through a smile.
"How pagan," he hummed, wrapping a hand around Thomas's hip and pulling him forward, apparently prompting Thomas to climb atop his lap, straddling him. They met for a glancing kiss before Thomas pulled free, eyes wandering Philip's face and outlining his lips with his fingers. Philip sucked the tip of each into his mouth as they made contact. Like the the chaste, the young, they grinned at each centimetre allowed by the other so that they matched in grins by the end.
Thomas ran his hand down Philip's throat and began to remove whatever item of clothing he came into contact with on his downward trajectory, peeling away the articles which covered his chest. Soon, he was naked from the waist up and feeling altogether salacious at being so undressed in the sitting room, of all places.
Kisses and bites were placed upon his collar bones and the firm heat of a tongue was pressed into the divot between. "Do they not feed you?" Philip teasingly asked, bringing Thomas's head up for a sloppy kiss.
"Nothing like you," he replied. He pressed his hand against the stressed crotch of Philip's trousers and massaged his erection. As he began to rock into the movement, Thomas gave a firm squeeze before moving his hand, pressing them both into Philip's hair, tilting his head back and kissing him.
"We should go to your room."
Philip made a noise of disapproval and managed to maintain that it was fine, before the weight was off of him, Thomas following through with his own plan. "Bastard," Philip said, plucked a stud from the pile of clothing at his side, and threw it at Thomas's back. It hit the wall just behind him with a click and fell to the floor.
If it had been with anyone else, Philip would have hated this sort of thing. He'd never been one of those tragic little things who followed the boy he happened to fag for like a puppy-dog. He may have, on occasion, wished to be, but he felt his child-dignity far too keenly to allow for such lapses. Philip had since learned the proper places for dignity and found that this needn't be one. Thomas lorded beautifully, so gravely but with a keen sense of humour.
After a moment's collection, Philip followed Thomas's path and struck upon a bit of fair play for his abandonment. When he came to the precipice of his room he watched Thomas neatly place his shoes on a chair and put his jacket on them. Philip went to the edge of the bed and sat, removing his remaining attire, eyes still on Thomas.
He plucked absently at a garter while he waited for Thomas to undress. Once Thomas was unclothed, Philip stood up and walked over to him, encircling him in his arms. Their skin was flush nearly the length of their bodies and it was dizzying enough that Philip stepped back for a moment. He grabbed Thomas's hands and brought them behind his back.
"What-"
"Hush," Philip said. He placed a kiss between Thomas's shoulders. He wrapped the garter he held around Thomas's wrists and, with a series of twists in the elastic, bound them together quite neatly. It was unlikely to satisfy de Sade, but Philip rather loved it.
"Is this what your lot get up to at Eton?" Thomas asked over his shoulder.
"If anything's brought over from school, it's caning. But," he said, grabbing a hold of Thomas's arm and guiding him towards the bed, "I was an unimpeachable child and never gained a taste for it."
"I'm sure that's a lie."
"You'll find out, won't you?"
He lay Thomas on the bed and knelt between his legs, hoisting him so that his arse rested against Philip's thighs. It was near to a position he could have buggered Thomas in, which only crossed his mind after. It hadn't been, but he wondered if Thomas thought that had been his intention. Since they had met, Philip had gathered up quite a list of charms that Thomas possessed, but he was sure what he liked best of all was that he'd never met anyone less reticent to commit a sin.
Thomas was still, watching him, and Philip ghosted touches along the seam at his perineum to the tip of his cock, lightly playing his fingers over the slit. Their eye contact broke as Thomas dropped his head back with a soft sigh. Philip ran his thumb up and down Thomas's length, with barely enough pressure to jar the skin.
"I wish -" Philip cut himself short and ceased his ministrations entirely, reaching up and tilting Thomas's head to an armoire at the side of the room which boasted a mirror. "See yourself?"
Philip kept his hold along Thomas's jaw as he nodded, reaching down with his free hand to squeeze at the head of the man's prick, slowly fisting it. "See?" He asked, and Thomas nodded once more. "You should stop running off. I'm so kind to you." At that, he brought his hand away from him, wetting his fingers in his own mouth as he watched Thomas's cock pulse for want of him.
He pressed his middle finger against Thomas's entrance and saw his eyes open a little wider at the sensation. After a moment, he gave a shallow push inside; Thomas gasped quietly, sounding more surprised than either pleased or pained.
Philip moved his hand from Thomas's jaw down to his erection, resuming his earlier pace. As Thomas rocked his hips in time with the strokes, Philip pressed deeper into him. As the pace of their movements increased, Philip felt his finger brush a hardness within and Thomas's head fell backward.
"Jesus Christ," he ground out, voice strained.
"Keeping looking at yourself," Philip said, sounding non-committal even to himself. He'd seen Thomas come off, but he'd never seen him so entirely undone and he could focus on little other than continuing to undo him.
"I don't - fuck."
"You should. This is the best thing I've seen," he muttered. The breathy laughter elicited was nearly immediately drowned in rough panting as Philip took to fingering the hardness inside of him at the same tempo he'd adopted in stroking his cock.
Thomas came with a strangled sob, continuing to curse and blaspheme in the seconds of breath he found. Philip moved the hand from Thomas's arse and began to masturbate himself roughly, revelling in in the tattered ribbons of breath which drifted down to him.
He spent himself over Thomas's belly and unhanded the both of them, moving up the bed and collapsing at Thomas's side. He pressed them together for a kiss, which continued for a time until he felt Thomas bite his tongue. Philip drew back at the unexpected pain.
"Untie me now."
"I will," Philip responded, frowning. Instead, he got up and disappeared into the lavatory to get a hand towel. "Isn't it awful when someone runs off on you?" He asked upon his return, pleased with the scowl he provoked.
He sat at the edge of the bed and dropped the towel onto Thomas's chest, making him gasp. He complained at the cold of it as Philip drew it over him, wiping away the pearlescent streaks. "I'll untie you after I put this back," he said.
"You'd never put it back if you were alone," Thomas said, voice wavering between an accusation and a whine.
"That may be, but I'm not alone," he replied, and popped the end of it rather skilfully against Thomas's hip before he exited the room again.
He came back to find Thomas had manoeuvred into a sitting position, fiddling with his bind. "Shall I help or would you like to finish?" He asked, sitting down behind him.
"Just bloody undo it."
Philip tried to remember how he'd manage to secure it. After a moment bothering it, he curled inward with a laugh, resting his forehead between Thomas's shoulder blades. "Wouldn't it be dreadful if I couldn't?"
"Yes," Thomas said, pointedly unamused. Philip could only laugh again.
"I think I'm going to hurt you," he warned, then dug his fingers beneath the stretched-firm elastic at Thomas's wrist and tugged it down as hard as he could, leaving an angry red trail in his wake. He tossed the now-useless garter to the floor.
Philip drew Thomas down, so that he rested his head on Philip's lap.
"Do you remember that viscount's name?" Thomas asked suddenly, looking up at him.
"You know - I don't. No idea."
"We're very shoddy pagans."
"I think we're excellent Greeks," Philip countered, grinning. "You never asked me for a story this time."
"Not setting fire to your flat seemed important."
"I appreciate your discretion," he said, running his fingers along Thomas's cheekbone. "But I have a story for you, anyway." He tilted Thomas's head toward the mirror again. "Do you know of Endymion?"
"No."
"All right. Endymion was a fellow Selene, the moon, was quite in love with, and he wanted to sleep forever so that he could remain young. But," he said, slower, "Selene had a brother, who was the moon during the day, and he was also in love with Endymion. He and Selene exchanged words over him, but she was preferred throughout Olympus, so Zeus damned him to earth, far away from Endymion, to spare Selene's heart.
"When he first awoke, he was pure moon. Then the night passed and its darkness caught up in his hair and the day faded and the blue of it pooled in his eyes. With his more human appearance, he took to wandering the Earth, looking for Endymion. and each day his lips grew redder with unspent passion, because Endymion remained hidden from him.
"And he's still looking, after all this time. Which is a prize to humanity, because he'll always be the most divine thing they'll ever see."
They were awash in silence for a good few minutes before Thomas turned from his reflection to Philip, grabbing up one of his hands and kissing the wrist. "You shouldn't talk like that," he said, nerves disjoining the words. "I'll start to think you care for me."
"Wherever could you have gotten that idea?" Philip asked, softly petting Thomas's hair. Spurred on by his myth, he was suddenly desirous to sleep beneath the moon, and moved to lay beside his lover. Thomas drew him closer and wrapped his arm around his waist, touching his lips to the protrusions of Philip's spine.
Philip tightened the grip around his waist and backed further into the touch, so that it extended down the line of their bodies. A curious shuffling came from somewhere and Philip grunted a sleepy acknowledgement.
"I imagine that's the post. Don't get up; it will be there later."
"Have you got an alarm clock?" Thomas asked against his back.
"On the table behind you. We should be at The Criterion by eleven or so, but I don't think we should sleep for nearly that long."
"Two hours?"
"That's fine."
Thomas rolled onto his back to grab the clock and, having set it, returned it to the table as awkwardly. He turned again and pressed himself against Philip. Philip took his hand and placed kisses at the burn left by his garter, then sunk it and his own hand beneath his waist, fingers interlaced.
He lay like that for a while, half-awake, enjoying the feel of Thomas's body against his own. The idea came to mind to turn around and kiss him (he wondered if he'd ever stop dreaming about his mouth), but no sooner had it arrived than he found himself broken from Thomas's hold and encircled by the arms of Morpheus.